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Struggling with the buttons on my uniform, I let out an agitated groan when my blood runs warm. There’s just something about that man. Something irresistible and feral and utterly tempting. I liked caring for him when he was in his coma and I like the way he looked at me when he woke up from it.
He’s consumed by me...because he thinks I’m his wife.
I bite my lip when I realize I wouldn’t have minded if it was true.
****
John
Yanking the door open, I breathe out at the sight of Autumn. Gotcha! Her eyes flash at me in anger. Clutching her clothes to her chest, she cries,
“What are you doing in here? Can’t you read?”
“Hit my head pretty hard,” I groan and she purses her lips. “Can’t see anything but you.”
The scowl on her face softens, her hands shuddering and she looks around as if she just remembered that there’s nobody here. Just us. Walking over to her, I lean against the locker and the skin on her arms pebbles. She’s got goosebumps and I’m the one responsible. She refuses to look at me, keeping both her head and her eyes lowered.
“I’d like to get dressed in private,” she whispers and my fingers itch to touch her. I just want to touch her. Anywhere, wherever she’ll let me. I’d be satisfied with just touching her hair but there’s no denying I want more. My body’s crazy for her. All it wants to do is assert its right over hers and enjoy the privileges. Rubbing a hand over my mouth, I rasp,
“There’s no need for privacy in front of your husband. I’ve seen you naked plenty times.”
“No you haven’t,” she says as redness covers her face.
Her tendency to make me sound like a liar and her tendency to make me feel like one, aggravates me and I growl, “Then how come I know you have a heart shaped birthmark just under where your bra strap is.”
She hurries with putting her uniform on and she’s too delightful in that thing. She looks so damn fresh. Crisp white blouse, candy cane striped dress and rubber soled shoes. The looks of her tickle my palate and my junk that’s been comatose for weeks is acting like a fucking general ready to go to war and plunder between Autumn’s bare legs.
Autumn’s eyes flare, bringing me back to the present. “Maybe cause you’re a perv!” she yaps, her voice filled with degradation. “Thanks for letting me know you’ve been spying on me with binoculars!” Panting, she looks up at me and her chest heaves, her little fists clenched at her sides and I have a feeling she wants to pound one right in my jaw but her nurturing nature prevents her.
Frowning, I look down at her, trying to understand her offended emotions. “Why would a husband be spying on his wife?” I probe and Autumn helplessly shrugs, causing her auburn locks to dance and I catch the scent and tense. Cranberries. It disturbs me because why don’t I recognize the scent? I must’ve been close to her a thousand times. I should’ve remembered it just like I remember everything else.
My heart pounds at the sudden distress and I inhale. She must’ve changed her shampoo. Yeah that’s it, she probably switches it up all the time.
I clasp a hand around Autumn’s upper arm when she makes an attempt to move and I repeat, “Why would I be spying on you?”
“Let go of me,” she whispers and her lower lip trembles. I pull her in closer.
“Don’t you enjoy your husband’s touch? You should be all over me, wife, busy doing your marital duties.” I’ve just woken up from a coma. She should’ve been sneakily trying to take herself for a spin on my shaft in that hospital bed right now. Instead she seems like it’s the last thing on her mind and it makes me want to groan from the misery.
Gasping, she squirms. “I’ve already told you. I’m not your...”
Snarling, I cut her off by smashing her mouth against mine. She weeps, the shock dripping from her every pore but I groan, relishing in her and I turn us around so that I’m the one smashing my back against the locker and not her. Her hands are reluctant to go around my shoulders but her mouth isn’t giving up on me. It wants me. Bending and twisting however I want it and there’s hunger in her, same hunger that’s in me and my heart sings from the joy. This is the most beautiful moment of my life.
Then alarms start going off in the back of my head. This feels new. I don’t recognize the kiss or her lips. I would have remembered lips like hers, the way she kisses...fuck I know I would have remembered. The confusion makes me angry and she whimpers beneath my lips. I hold her to let her know I’ll never let her go, I squeeze her buttocks and moan sonnets over her sweet cheeks.
This is so damn good for my health, I already feel myself recovering.
All I need is her. She’s my little drug. The only prescription and treatment that can do what no other remedy can. I want to cry out to the ceiling when I feel her hand going lower, sneaking in between our bodies and hell yes, she’s going to stroke the part of my anatomy that needs her the most and I groan,
“That’s it, sweet cheeks. Be a good little wifey to your husband...you know how to work me...”
Abruptly cutting off the kiss, she pants and looks up at me with hooded and embarrassed eyes. Growling, I snarl, “Why’d you stop?”
“I don’t know how to work you, John.” She drags a nervous hand through her hair. “I don’t know anything about you.”
Lie. She has to know. She has to know why we don’t have kids yet. Frowning I figure it must be because she’s young. At thirty-one I’m more mature than her. Maybe I wanted to give her some time.
“This was a mistake...,” she breathes, “I shouldn’t have...”
